


A Perfect Disaster

by cmartlover



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, pure fluff, written for the river/doctor ficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 20:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6625654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmartlover/pseuds/cmartlover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Rainy day, hot chocolate, cuddling and cookies, gimme some fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Perfect Disaster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amie33](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amie33/gifts).



> So yeah, this is the only ficathon fic I've had time to write so far (it's been a busy semester). It's pretty much pure fluff (especially at the end, so be warned).

To say this day hadn’t exactly gone according to plan might well be the understatement of the century, or perhaps more accurately, several centuries, the Doctor realizes only in retrospect. Then again, when have his days ever gone to plan? It’s usually innocent curiosity, which inevitably leads to trouble and danger, and frantic, improvised speeches that almost certainly won’t work, but somehow always do, and a fair bit of running (well, quite a lot of running, actually), and stumbling back into the TARDIS when all is said and done. That’s a normal day for him, and it’s perfectly fine; he’s more than used to it.

This day, however, was not supposed to be a normal day.

 

* * *

 

After weeks of meticulous planning on his part (well, meticulous as a man with the apparent attention span of a 5-year-old could get), he’d finally managed to find the perfect spot for their date. Or so he thought.

Sure, it wasn’t their anniversary or her birthday or any other monumental event, but since he hadn’t seen her in far too long, and the last time he had, she’d been slumped at her desk, stressed and overwhelmed, a hefty pile of freshmen student papers left to grade, he’d decided to make it a special occasion. For her.

And it would’ve been. A perfect afternoon picnic on a beautiful, recently terraformed, but still uninhabited planet, the violet fields of grass around him and River as they marveled at the wonder above—brilliant splotches of reds and purples and golds, every color of the rainbow, so intense and blazing unlike any other sight imaginable, the rare alignment of the seven suns of the Rexdyn Alpha system, only visible once every millennia. And even then, there would never be another moment like this one, a new world, just him and River, the sunlight on their faces, the spectrum of colors dancing in River’s green eyes.

He’d set everything up beforehand—the checkered blanket, the basket of her favorite foods, even a bottle of wine (for her, of course, not him; he loathes alcohol this go-round, and the one time he’d tried it, River had sworn she’d never let him drink it again). All his calculations led him to this precise place, at this precise time, and when he picked her up, he’d put the coordinates in while River changed, having double-checked them earlier, just to be safe.

His hearts had threatened to burst through his chest when River walked out wearing that dress he’d picked for their wedding night, the golden, shimmering material clinging to her in all the right places, those wild curls bouncing atop her shoulders.

He’d dressed up too, of course, dawning a dark suit and tails, but as ever, he felt massively upstaged by his wife, not that he minded.

Insisting on surprising her, he’d covered her eyes with his hands, hovering closely at her back as they slowly exited the TARDIS into the field leading to the small alcove where he’d stashed the picnic supplies. He’d landed them a few minutes early, so they wouldn’t miss a moment of the sunset. Had he not been entirely focused on River, he might have noticed the puffy, grey clouds swarming at the edges of the sky.

A pity really.

Maybe then they wouldn’t be dodging the pellets of raindrops currently flooding from said ominous clouds.

 

* * *

 

Frantically, he scours his bigger-on-the-inside pockets for that umbrella he swears he has in there, only to find nothing but a plethora of useless gizmos—a ball of string, a pair of mismatched socks, a children’s dolly, a yo-yo, a colorful scarf (why does he still have that?), a pair of River’s earrings, a bottle of her favorite perfume; he blushes, stuttering to himself and hoping she won’t notice. It’s only when he glances back up at her that he realizes she’s cross-armed and shivering, a rather withering look on her face.

Guilt congeals in his stomach, and he shrugs off his jacket, wrapping it around her bare shoulders before she can protest.

They decide to ditch the picnic supplies, dashing to the TARDIS hand in hand, trudging through the thickening mud as the rain cascades around them.

When they reach the TARDIS, River enters first, her heels clacking against the glass floor until she reaches the console, her hands moving deftly over various levers, her normally unruly hair now deflated, her dress dripping with water. Pulling the monitor closer, she eyes it warily, before punching it in frustration with no response.

“Apparently she doesn’t want to cooperate right now.” She sighs, gaze darting back to him, her chest heaving slightly. “Right then. I’m soaked and I’d rather like to change if you don’t mind. Why don’t you work on piloting us out of here in the meantime?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but she’s already zipping down a corridor, obviously keen to leave him. His shoulders slouch slightly, and he runs a hand over his face, disappointment flooding his hearts.

Outside, the rain still taunts him, beating a steady rhythm against the wooden surface of the TARDIS exterior. Even on an uninhabited planet, after careful planning and precision, with no potential threats or danger, he can’t manage to have a normal date with his wife.

He really shouldn’t have expected any less.

 

* * *

 

Minutes later, he’s slung in the swing beneath the console, goggles strapped to his face, tongue jutting out in concentration, shirtsleeves rolled up, semi-wet hair splayed in all directions, sonicking a frayed wire only to dodge the sparks flying in his face.

With a huff, he drops the wire promptly, accepting that the TARDIS really is determined not to budge.

To make matters worse, the heating’s broken and the temperature has dropped significantly since he started, leaving him shivering in the damp clothes still chilling his skin.

“Honestly, Old Girl! Just this once, would it kill you not to be so bloody obstinate!”

His ship hums noisily in response, as if mocking him, but he retaliates by kicking the hard, coral-like floor below.

“Owwwwwwww!” he moans, foot stinging at the impact.

“Sweetie?” River’s voice, tinged with concern, reverberates through the adjacent hallway. “Are you quite all right in there?”

“Yes, yes, perfectly fine, dear.” He insists, though not fully convinced of it himself, his dress shirt now singed with burn marks.

“I’m going to go warm up by the fireplace in the library if you’d care to join me, seeing as you’re obviously not making any progress.”

Her back-handed insult does nothing but bruise his already damaged ego, although after their disastrous date, he deserves it, so he just nods, face scrunched up.

“I’ll be there in a tic, dear.”

 

* * *

 

Cautiously veering into the library, the Doctor steps slowly, one foot after the other, balancing a tray in his hands and desperately trying to avoid the inevitable clumsy fall.

He’s halfway across the Victorian-esque room when he spots her—languidly sprawled on the sofa, clad in an oversized shirt, navy blue jodhpurs, and the multi-colored fuzzy socks he’d bought for her birthday one year. She’s biting her lip, lost in a book, reading glasses perched on the edge of her nose. His stomach does a little somersault, and suddenly he forgets all about the tray.

Which really isn’t the wisest move, in retrospect.

Sometime in the next second or so, his knees buckle, and he stumbles, the clatter of mugs registering in his ears a moment too late. But River is quick to assist him, practically jolting out of her seat and jumping to his aid, steadying the mugs right before they shatter on the ground.

“Hot chocolate?” he squeaks, heat filing in his cheeks as he shrugs embarrassedly, and she gently transfers the mostly-intact tray from his hands to the coffee table.

“Well, that could’ve been a disaster.” She teases, one hand propped on her hip, a faint smile reaching her lips. “I was beginning to wonder why you were taking so long.”

Plopping down on a cushion with all the gracefulness of a giraffe, he releases a wary breath, burying his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry. I suppose I can’t do anything right today.” He almost expects her to agree and reprimand him for their earlier disaster of a date, but instead she smooths a hand against his shoulder, her touch burning his skin.

“Sweetie, it’s alright, honestly.” She brightens, a lightness in her eyes.

“How can you even say that, River? I ruined everything!” Anger flaring, he throws his arms up, unable to understand his wife’s relatively calm demeanor.

“I think you’re being a bit melodramatic.”

“River, instead of a lovely picnic amidst a magnificent sunset, we somehow got thrust into a torrential downpour, even after I’d done all the calculations. And to top it off, we’re stuck here in the middle of a rainstorm, the TARDIS won’t budge, the heating doesn’t work, and I’m tripping over things because you look really pretty, so pretty I nearly spilled hot chocolate on myself, and if you hadn’t been so quick on your feet I definitely would’ve, and you—why are you wearing my shirt?” He stops abruptly, furrowing his brow and narrowing his eyes. River chuckles, curls bobbing up and down as she shakes her head.

“It was the closest article of clothing I could find. And besides, it’s rather comfortable.”

“River—”

“Oh come on, Sweetie, we both know it looks better on me anyway.”

“Well, I can’t really argue with that.” Gaze softening for a moment, he soaks in the image of his wife—poised and beautiful, dawning his shirt like it’s some sort of regal gown fit for a queen. And yet there’s a certain normality about the scene—she’s cozy and relaxed, and it warms his hearts. So much so that he nearly forgets—“Hang on. No, no, stop that.”

“Stop what, Honey?” River bats her eyes innocently, peering up at him.

“That!” His hands flail in a ridiculous, nonsensical motion up and down the length of her body.

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

“Just—stop being so… _distracting._ ” He spits, chin jutting out, forehead crinkling. “I’m supposed to be wallowing guilt because I ruined our day, and you’re supposed to be cross with me because I do everything wrong, and you deserve so much better, especially given how much pressure you’ve been under, and you’ve got such a rubbish husband, and nothing could possibly—”

When River quietly stands and turns, he halts his self-depreciating diatribe and shrinks back in place, expecting her to leave. Only she doesn’t, just reaches the cupboard and extracts his favorite blanket—hand-made, embroidered with bowties and fezzes, an old Christmas gift from her (better than giving him the actual fez, she’d insisted).

“Blanket?” she asks, scooting close so they’re side by side and spreading the soft fabric over them like a parachute. His eyes dart to hers, dancing in confusion, but she flashes him a look of fond exasperation. “Your teeth were chattering, Darling. I thought you could use a bit of warming up.” For once there is no hidden innuendo in her voice, despite the nature of her words, just genuine care and affection.

“River…”

“And I’m not cross with you by the way.”

“But I ruined our date! Nothing turned out as it was supposed to—”

“Sweetie, when have our dates ever gone to plan?” she arches a brow, entreating him.

“Rarely. Hardly ever.” He admits, hearts sinking in defeat. “But this one was supposed to be the exception—it was supposed to be special. No running from monsters, no getting into trouble, no poorly improvised speeches or near-death experiences. Not that I tend to mind any of those things—I just, you were under so much stress last time I saw you, and I thought it could be a nice date, proper, normal, well, as normal as we can get anyway. Just the two of us.”

“Rather like right now?” Clasping the two mugs, she offers him one, her hand lingering over his for a moment, her green eyes wide and searching. A small, uncharacteristically shy smile curls at her lips as she bites back a nervous laugh against the rim of her hot chocolate. Her nose crinkles adorably, her cheeks a delightful rosy red, and he finds himself utterly mesmerized by the wonder that is River Song. His wife. Even the universe’s most fearsome creatures cower in fear of her, his untamable River, fierce and determined and ruthless, a force of chaos and destruction and mischief, the bravest of warriors, sweeping through the universe like tidal wave. But here, tucked into his side, warm and snug, she’s just about the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

“I could say the same for you, Sweetie.” She stifles a giggle, her nose brushing his shoulder, her face flushing a more brilliant red. Warmth floods into his own cheeks, and he blushes, realizing his mistake.

“And I just said that aloud, didn’t I?”

“Can’t take it back now.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.” Bopping her nose, he watches in amazement as she grins even wider, all pink lips and pearly teeth, a smile surely brighter and more luminous than the setting of the seven suns they failed to see. “And since we’re making a date of it…” he rummages through his bigger-on-the-inside trouser pocket to extract a vibrant red and yellow colored package. “Biscuit?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Snatching a round, jelly-filled Jammie Dodger, River dips it promptly into the Doctor’s untouched hot chocolate, much to his apparent outrage.

“Oi!” he bristles, sloshing the brown liquid in his mug with a flailing arm and nearly spilling it all down his shirt. “River!”

But she buries her face in his side, giggling, curls tumbling against his shirt, and he relaxes for the first time that night, hearts light, weaving his free arm around her and cradling her snugly to him, craning his neck to plant a kiss to her cheek.

“See, not so bad is it?” she mummers quietly, cuddling with him under the blanket, content and satisfied, her fingers caressing his hair.

Flashing her a lopsided smile, he feels his chest burst with warmth and fondness and  sighs deeply, besotted grin on his face as he leans down and kisses her, capturing her bottom lip in his and tugging for a moment, lingering, before drawing back and basking in the glow of those impossible green eyes.

“No, I suppose not.”

This day may not have gone as planned, but in the end, with River nestled in the crook of his arm, the smell of old books and hot chocolate and Jammie Dodgers teeming around them, the pitter-patter of the rain outside mingling with their shared heartbeats, he knows he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Happy River/Doctor anniversary day! 
> 
> Make sure to tune in to twitter or tumblr for the big news about the new companion tomorrow.


End file.
